I Love Her Dearly
Rarely am I drawn to the star of a production. I like the quirky and complicated supporting character, or maybe a standout from the ensemble. Someone with a couple of powerful lines.
Give me Janeane Garofalo circa Reality Bites. Or Peter Sarsgaard circa anything. Give me tragic. Give me gritty. Give me misunderstood and offbeat.
I’m probably drawn to this type because I’ve always felt like a bit of a misfit. I spent a good portion of my teens and early twenties fighting a simple truth: I’m a weirdo.
Once, in fourth grade, I was having dinner at a friend’s house. There was a small gathering of adults present—a sort of parallel party happening live, right alongside of our little playdate. A lady sat on the couch; I saw her staring at me. She smirked. She said, “sweetie, you know who you look like?” I shook my head; no, I didn’t know. “You look like Jodie Foster.”
My nine year old self knew EXACTLY who that was because, as previously mentioned, I’m a weirdo, and my mom had taken me to see Nell on the big screen.
“She’s kind of old,” was my response.
“Yeah,” said the lady, “but you’re an old soul.”
What does that mean? I wondered. But I didn’t dare ask. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.
That phrase, it kept returning. My soul was called old again and again. In high school it never felt like a compliment, and I worked hard to shed my ancient soul. I attempted to channel youth and silliness and frivolousness. It never worked.
Once on an airplane in college, I sat next to a complete stranger, a gentleman. Looking back, he was probably in his late thirties, but at the time he was intimidating; he seemed refined and knowledgeable. We talked the whole flight. I remember feeling flattered that this guy wanted to spend so much time chit-chatting with me. As the pilot announced our final descent, the man turned his head to look directly into my eyes. It felt intense, personal.
“You know,” he said, “I hope you won’t mind me saying this. And I’m very aware this could come off as creepy, so you’re just going to have to take me at my word that I’m not trying to be creepy—” I braced myself. “You,” he continued, “are an old soul.”
My heart sank. “Ew,” I said. “My whole life, people have told me that. That is the WEIRDEST thing you can say to a youngish person!”
He laughed. “Well, you are. Sorry dude.” I rolled my eyes, but he was undeterred. “You know, that’s a compliment. One day you’ll realize it.”
Now, I’m honored to be in possession of this soul. I safeguard her. In return, she shows me the world in beautiful and gratifying ways. She allows me to realize what is sacred. She is my trusted confidant.
Accepting my soul has been an important part of aging. Now we’re friends. For all of her wisdom, she can be crazy, a bit unhinged. Every now and again she needs a stern lecture. But she always comes around. And you know what? I love her dearly.